Coach sits back, folding his arms over his chest. “Are you a member of USSLRA?”
I shake my head, shifting from one foot to the other, trying to ignore the pit growing in my stomach.
Coach continues. “Have you been trained by USSLRA?”
“Obviously not, since I’m a player and not a ref.” My mouth doesn’t know when to quit. It should, but it has a mind of its own.
“Then stop thinking you have jurisdiction over the pitch and shut your damn mouth.”
Bjorn Janssen is one of the most laid-back people I’ve ever met, and he rarely cusses. Oh fuck. He’s going to fire me right here and now. I have to do something. I say the first thing that pops into my head. Naturally. “I am your leading scorer.”
“But you can’t score when you’re suspended. You need to get your act together, or you won’t have a place here.”
I can only imagine what my ever-supportive dad would have to say about me getting fired for my mouth. For once, I stay quiet. Instead, I purse my lips together and nod.
“I don’t want to let you go, Brandon, but you’re backing me into a corner. Bob Miller doesn’t like paying you to sit on the bench because you can’t control your mouth.”
“I speak the truth as I see it.”
Coach scrubs his hand over his face. “That’s what I’m talking about. You need to focus a little less on speaking your truth and a little more on thinking about your public image. No more screwups. You’re good, but nobody’s irreplaceable. Consider yourself on probation for the rest of the season.”
His words hit like spikes to the shin.
Without shin guards.
Coach stands and walks around me, leaving me all alone in the tiny office of the guest locker room. I don’t move until the locker room is empty. It’s not like I can go back out on the field, even to watch from the bench.
I want to take a long, hot shower, but these locker rooms are utter crap. They’re small and dirty and painted the brightest shade of pink this side of a bottle of Pepto Bismol. You’d think teams would want to show off their state-of-the-art facilities to their guests, but not the Baltimore Terrors.
Oh no, they want their opponents to be as uncomfortable as possible. They also want to use a little psychological warfare too, by insinuating the opposing team are girls.
Dumb asses.
I could wait for the team and take the bus back to the hotel, but considering we have a month’s break starting when this game ends, I might just start my vacation early. My teammates certainly won’t miss me, especially since I left them shorthanded.
I order an Uber and leave the stadium mid-game. No one’s even going to notice I’m gone.
